


Rendezvous

by Zodiac



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil's 16 which is above the age of consent for the time, It looks like fluff right now but whoo boy that's going to change eventually, M/M, Tags warnings and rating to be updated as the fic progresses, but I put the underage warning on just in case, victorian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zodiac/pseuds/Zodiac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The average servant's life was spent serving his master and tending to his every whim until either the final breath left his body or he purchased his freedom, if he could. Carlos was no average servant and his master, Cecil Palmer, was no average person. This is a record of their shared, unusual lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rendezvous

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are, the beginning of writing down an AU that's been ~11 months in the making. Firstly, a warning; Cecil is 16 years old in this fic, which is above the age of consent for Victorian times, whereas Carlos is 22. I do intend for them to have sex eventually, so this is just a preemptive warning to those who may be uncomfortable with that. Also, in my current projection of how this fic will go, there will be various other topics that people may be sensitive to/uncomfortable with that I will add to the tag list when the time comes, so take a peek at the tags whenever I post a new chapter to make sure you know what you're about to get into. Now that that's out of the way, strap yourselves in because this is going to be one helluva ride.

“’The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again.’ Master Palmer, do tell me who created this quotation… Master Palmer? Cecil!”

The sixteen-year-old blinked, abruptly torn from his daydreaming by the hiss of his name, tone promising a scolding for his inattentiveness. Propping himself up on his elbows from where he laid in the grass, he finally focused his attention on the one who was actually attempting to teach him, peeking up at him with all the meekness of a child caught doing something that they were fully aware that they were not supposed to be doing. Carlos Algarín, his own personal butler and now study tutor, glowered back down at him, eyes narrowed primly, practically trying to pin him to the ground with the weight of his disapproval.

Unfortunately for him, that ceased being effective on Cecil Palmer about the fiftieth time he tried using it on him.

“Wilde.” He said simply, distractedly, flopping down against the ground to stare back up at the cloudless sky.

“Cecil, Oscar Wilde most certainly did not pen every piece of literature available and you are aware of that fact.” The valet grumbled, turning his attention back to the book in his hand now that his signature death glare was being ignored. “Besides, I would have thought that you had witnessed his plays and read his books enough times to know—by heart—that that was not in a single one of them.”

“Fine.” Cecil huffed, rocking back up into a sitting position to pout at his companion. “Then tell me who _did_ write that quote if you’re such a smart person, then.”

“Charles Dickens in his novel _The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby_.” Sighing, Carlos snapped shut the book that he was reciting from. “Honestly, Cecil, there is no point to this study session of ours if you simply resort to me reading out the answers of every question that I ask of you.”

“Of course there is!” Scrambling up to his feet, he plucked the book from Carlos’ grip, beginning to idly flip through it. While he had his eyes cast down to the pages, he shot a glance up at his butler, demurely looking up at him through his lashes. Adding that onto the pout already firmly fixed on his lips, he was the very visage of a spoiled brat who knew precisely how to charm his way past any problem that may crop up. “It means I get to hear your charming voice reciting the greatest written works to my ears and my ears only.” He crooned, voice suddenly so smooth that it was almost oozing out as a sneak-peek of just what the effects of puberty had yet to perfect. “What more could I ever want out of life?”

Unfortunately for Cecil, Carlos’ withering stare was not the only thing that had been used to the point of ineffectiveness.

“How about not being sent off to work the chimneys for the Vansten family because your teachers deemed you unable to learn?” He said, clearly unaffected by Cecil’s attempts at worming his way out of studying properly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Ah, Carlos,” He tutted, warm affection in his tone, but also a cold, calculating certainty that few but the most esteemed scientists could even hope to have, “they would never, _ever_ do that.”

The sudden shift in attitude didn’t surprise Carlos. Cecil had a tendency of acting like this—being sweet and carefree at one moment, then switching over to a seriousness that did not befit his age upon hearing particular comments. It was just one among many of the odd things that he had gotten used to over his twenty-two years of life, many of which had been spent in Cecil’s household, caring for the sole heir to the Palmer name.

“If you are quite certain of that fact…” He muttered more than actually spoke, still not entirely sure of how to best handle Cecil when he acted like this. “Still, it would be best to have these sorts of things memorized. The written works of our age tend to be a marvelous conversational topic at social occasions, so I hear.”

“Oh yes,” A sharp sarcastic bite had wriggled into his tone to replace the colder one that had just been present, “I can woo party-goers with a slurred mimicry of Dickens’ finest works after I inevitably dip into the alcohol just so I can stomach being around such ignorant, pretentious people. Such a good idea, there.”

Carlos huffed. For one who did not want to put his voice to use in that way, Cecil sure could cycle through a variety of tones and emotions for however he did want to have listening. “Honestly, I am unsure as to how I ever became your valet when all we seem to do is bicker like a couple of gossiping women most of the time.”

“Ah, I believe that, my dear Carlos, is because that, when I was a child, I would howl with every ounce of breath in my body whenever we happened to be separated. You also happen to brush my hair _very_ well, so that is a plus.”

Ah, yes. Cecil was _quite_ clingy as a child, now that he thought back to it. Their first meeting had been when Cecil was a toddler, happily tottering about and babbling something that sounded close to the English language to anyone who was around to listen. He had been ordered to keep an eye on the little tyke while his parents went out, having been told that interacting with someone other than an adult would be good for him. As soon as he entered the same room as him, Cecil waddled his way over to him and, clutching a couple of chubby fistfuls of his pants, did something that Carlos could not believe.

He asked him what his name was.

Up to that point, no one but other servants had inquired as to what his name was—his master and mistress simply had no need and no desire to learn it. He was just referred to as “servant” or “child” or “you there” whenever someone just had to distinguish him from others. And yet, here was the son of his master, looking up at him wide-eyed through even wider glasses, swaying lightly as he patiently waited for him to answer his question.

And answer he did.

“Carlos Algarín.” He replied, letting his hand fall down onto his head to ruffle his black hair.

Giggling, Cecil leaned closer to him, wrapping his arms around his leg as much as he could with the tiny limbs. “Okay, Mister Algy! My parents said that you’re here ta watch me!”

Bending down, Carlos gathered him up in his arms and lifted him up, awkwardly shifting him in his grip for a few moments due to being unused to holding children. “Yep! Oh, but you can just call me Carlos. My parents are Mister and Missus “Algy”.”

And so it went. With Cecil always being sure to be latched onto him, he looked after him, making absolutely sure that the toddler didn’t get into or do anything that he wasn’t supposed to. That is, until he grew sleepy, leaning and nestling closer against his warm body with those big eyes of his nearly shut. He picked him up again and, looking around for someplace to set Cecil down for a nap, his eyes alighted on the ornate couch in the room. Going over to it, he sat down and settled the boy down beside himself, who still snuggled close to him despite his eyes now being firmly closed. Figuring he wouldn’t be able to move from his spot without Cecil awakening, he himself settled down as well and soon drifted off to sleep beside him.

The next thing he knew, there was a howling wail, shrill and piercing enough that it felt like every bone in his body was trembling in an effort to not shatter beneath the reverberations of the assaulting sound waves. His eyes snapped open, every primal instinct in his body screaming at him to take cover, to hide from whatever bestial force of nature may be bearing down upon him.

His sleep-groggy mind then kicked into action and noted three things. One, Cecil was no longer by his side. Two, further inspection revealed the Cecil’s mother to be holding him, cooing and murmuring to him along with his father. Three, the boy had _quite_ the pair of lungs on him.

It turned out that Cecil was the source of that awful noise, wailing and thrashing away in his mother’s arms and flailing his stubby arms out in the direction of the couch where he still sat, his body and mind unsure whether to flee or just stay as still as possible and hope that the ear-splitting noise still carving its way through him would cease.

So, like most confused and distressed children tend to do, he began to cry.

Pressing his palms to his eyes, he sobbed relatively quietly, sniffling and letting out the occasional high-pitched whimper. Despite his own crying being drowned out by Cecil’s, the toddler seemed to notice that he was unhappy quickly and closed his mouth, ceasing the horrible cries that had just been emanating from it. Cecil was now looking at him, more insistently grabbing at the air between them as though he could snatch him up through sheer force of will from several feet away.

His parents noticed this behavior and, after glancing at one another and muttering to their respective partner, deigned to put Cecil back into contact with him, settling him back down on the couch. There, he immediately wormed his way against his side, cooing softly to Carlos in an attempt to soothe his crying. Once they had settled down, his parents allowed them to remain like that until Cecil’s actual bedtime (Though, this situation was less part of their actual wishes, more to do with the fact that Cecil would begin wailing again if they attempted separating them).

It was because of that little incident that they discussed with Carlos’ parents—who were also serving under them at the time—the possibility of Carlos becoming Cecil’s valet, his personal butler, essentially. They agreed to test how well he suited the role over the next few years, a test which he passed with flying colors and the rest up until the present day was history. Fleeting, tumultuous, memorable history.

Cecil may not wail whenever pulled from Carlos’ side now, but he was still definitely clingy. Though it was his duty to tend to his every whim, Carlos was absolutely certain that Cecil, being the young man that he now was, could easily accomplish at least some of the tasks that he had him assist with. Though, he couldn’t say he minded it much; they were mostly simple everyday tasks that could be completed quickly. Brushing his hair, helping him put on his clothes in the morning, those sorts of things.

He swore, as Cecil looked musingly at him with those eyes still full of that same adoration as so many years before, that he did at least some of it for the sake of garnering his attention.

“Ah yes, you were quite loud back then. In fact, I do believe you were loud enough to cause a monster hunter to come knocking on the mansion doors to make sure that there was not a wailing banshee plaguing us.”

“Really?” Cecil asked, excitement evident in his tone, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I did that?”

“No.” He said simply, lifting a hand up to fluff up his hair. “Everyone around here is far too superstitious, honestly. There is no scientific evidence to prove that banshees or vampires or anything else of that nature actually exist, so to believe in their existence merely causes panic amongst everyone else. They are simply perpetuating the idea that most-definitely non-existent creatures actually do exist for their own gain, which is blatantly a misuse of their power to sway the people.” Discovering that he was rambling, he gave his master a small smile, a light flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “My apologies, you know how I get when science is mentioned. Anyway, I do believe it is about time for dinner, so shall we?” He inquired, gesturing towards the direction of the mansion.

“Yeah…” Cecil said quietly, sounding as though he had overstepped unseen boundaries, looking back at his home. After a moment, he started on his way towards it, offering only another short, murmured phrase as conversation, answering Carlos’ last question. “You’re right.”


End file.
